


Out of the Shadows

by illyriantremors



Series: ACOMAF Rhys POV Standalone Chapters [9]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Rhys POV, acomaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriantremors/pseuds/illyriantremors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 48 of ACOMAF from Rhysand's POV. The infamous inn scene. Super naughty and not safe for work. You could say my version of Rhys in this one is one horny bat, haha. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Update as of 4/19/17: This fic has been updated! I have gone back to the beginning of ACOMAF and started the entire book from Rhys's POV. You can find this specific chapter new and updated _[HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10671303/chapters/23621712)_. :)

To say the inn where we were staying was cramped would have been an understatement, but there it was. The attic room given us was tiny, Feyre was grumpy as hell from training, and I was horny as fuck from flying her here against my chest through the wind and rain.

The encounter with Lucien seemed to have triggered something in us both that even the Court of Nightmares and Starfall had not managed. I thought about how Feyre had looked with those powerful wings gliding out of her back the entire flight to the inn, trying not to drop in my anxiety her as we flew.

But we both felt it. The _shift_. A primal sensation was building between us, the final missing piece that would undo the tension we shared. I was done pretending with her that it didn’t exist anymore. The lone bed boldly staring at us from within four tightly packed walls of the inn, too narrow and dingy to house what I felt for Feyre, seemed to throw that realization back in our faces.

“I asked for two,” I said automatically, my hands thrown up in surrender over the threshold to the room.

Feyre seemed to be thinking along the same lines as she didn’t dare move within the room. “If you can’t risk using magic, then we’ll have to warm each other,” she said, a blush immediately overtaking her frozen cheeks. “Body heat,” she spat out, but not before a smug look had crept onto my face. “My sisters and I had to share a bed - I’m used to it.”

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

“I’m hungry.”

 _So am I_ , I thought, but not for that kind of nourishment.

“I’ll go down and get us food while you change.” Her brows rose in genuine curiosity. The danger of where this night might lead had us both thrown off our game. “Remarkable as my own abilities are to blend in,” I explained, “my face is recognizable. I’d rather not be down there long enough to be noticed.”

My fingers were agitated as they worked on pulling the cloak over my wings. I wasn’t even inside the room yet and already it felt suffocating. There was no way I could let myself lose control with Feyre here in this miserable den. Muscles screamed at me as I stretched for the fastening to cloak myself, the result of a long day exposed to the rough elements raging outside. It made all the things my body needed feel so out of reach.

I caught Feyre staring at me, a glazed look in her eyes studying me intently. Darkness brooded over me while my fingers worked, a darkness that was annoyed and angry at my limitations, but Feyre was drinking it in like fine wine.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” I said, my voice low and aching.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me.” Her words at the Court of Nightmares came back to me, warming my skin against the chill in the room.

_You are good, Rhys. I see you._

And she’d meant it too.

“I was afraid of you at first,” Feyre said and I smiled because I knew it wasn’t true.

_This mask does not scare me._

“No, you weren’t,” I countered, finishing up the hood of my cloak. “Nervous, maybe, but never afraid. I’ve felt the genuine terror of enough people to know the difference. Maybe that’s why i couldn’t keep away.”

The intimacy of this fact threatened to tip me over and I darted away from her and our cramped quarters before she could say anything. As I waited for our food to be drawn up, I tried not to think about the layers of damp clothing she would be removing floors above me, sticking to her skin and hair, her nakedness against the sheets as she sat on the bed and removed her moistened undergarments to change. I shuddered the thought away before it could get the better of me.

When the inn keeper handed me the trays of food, I demanded a bottle of wine instead of the water. Hopefully it would loosen up my body enough to cooperate with my mind from touching her all night. He handed me the bottle and two glasses with a grunt, glad to be rid of me.

The stairs groaned beneath my feet as I climbed mocking the release I was unable to unleash and I came to stand outside our door. Feyre opened it before I could knock and stood there, her hair dripping water down her neck from the rain. But it was the sweater that did me in - _my_ sweater that she was wearing. I could smell myself on it - on her, like a feral dog marking its territory.

 _Mine, mine, mine_.

My groin gave an adrenaline inducing twitch.

“Tell me that’s stew I smell,” she asked, her eyes closing as she took a wonderful inhale. I tried not stare at her lips as I brushed past her and set the tray on the bed, glad of her question to free me from my masochistic thoughts.

“Rabbit stew,” I said. “If the cook’s to be believed.”

“I could have lived without hearing that.” I grinned at her and thought I saw some of that mischief dancing from her as well, but she quickly turned her back on me. “What’s the other one beneath?”

I moved around the bed, tucking my wings to my back as tightly as I could to avoid knocking into the wall. “Meat pie. I didn’t dare ask what kind of meat. Go ahead and eat. I’m changing first.”

“You should have changed before going downstairs.” A casual comment, but there was a stiffness to it that suggested she was avoiding me. I shirked off my cloak and started in on my tunic trying very hard to ignore the fact that I was going to be naked in front of her in a matter of seconds.

“You were the one training all day,” I said, hoping to fill the air with something other than the fact that there was a bed between us and my cock was close to being out as I swapped my pants for a clean pair. I could hardly think of anything else. “Getting you a hot meal was the least I could do.”

Silence reigned supreme. I listened to Feyre sip her stew, her lips making slurping noises as she sucked that reminded me of -

I worked faster and finished dressing myself, the last of the cotton shirt taking some extra attention to fit my wings. I sat on the bed and grabbed my plate when I was done.

“How do you get it over the wings?” Feyre asked, conversation at last.

“The back is made of slats that close with hidden buttons… But in normal circumstances, I just use magic to seal it shut.”

“It seems like you have a great deal of magic constantly in use at once.”

“It helps me work off the strain of my power,” I said between bites with a careless shrug. “The magic needs release - draining - or else it’ll build up and drive me insane. That’s why we call the Illyrian stones Siphons - they help them channel the power, empty it when necessary.”

Feyre paused and set her bowl aside looking wide-eyed and surprised. “Actually insane?” she asked. There was her innate curiosity again about the world she still knew so little of that I adored so much.

“Actually insane,” I confirmed. “Or so I was warned.” As if in reflex to my words, my back tightened and something deep inside of myself written into the fabric of my soul twitched, like an itch I couldn’t scratch so long as my powers were traceable. “I can feel it, though - the pull of it, if I go too long without releasing it.”

“That’s horrible,” Feyre said, looking at me from across the bed with concern. And for once, I didn’t doubt that it was real.

“Everything has its cost, Feyre. If the price of being strong enough to shield my people is that I have to struggle with that same power, then I don’t mind. Amren taught me enough about controlling it. Enough that I owe a great deal to her. Including the current shield around my city while we’re here.”

I raised another spoonful of stew to my lips and stopped when Feyre’s grip on her mental shields went out from under her and a horrid thought, one I despised, that told her unfairly of how useless and freakish she was fell out. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Even sitting there with her hair a mess and not a single weapon on her, Feyre was powerful - a perfectly crafted arrow flying through the night only the dark huntress herself was capable of seeing.

“You’re not,” I said with no room for argument as to the question of if she were worthless.

“Don’t read my thoughts,” she grumbled.

I set my emptied bowl of stew down a tad too hard, some of my tension releasing in that snap. “I can’t help what you sometimes shout down the bond. And besides, everything is usually written on your face, if you know where to look,” as I always did. “Which made your performance today so much more impressive.”

Feyre gave me careful consideration before leaning back against the pillows of the bed clutching her wine glass close to her. Something glared behind those eyes as she sipped her wine. I continued eating, thinking her frustrated at my reproachful tone, when she surprised me mid-bite.

“Did you think I would go with him?”

My eyes darted to hers across the fork at my lips. An awful truth twisted in my gut cutting at the desire I’d built up for her. “I heard every word between you. I knew you could take care of yourself, and yet…” I had to take a bite to buy myself time, scared to admit what I had prayed in that forest she wouldn’t do. “And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.”

And I meant it despite how vulnerable it left me.

Feyre casually stole a sip of her wine, letting it mask the need behind her next question. “And if he had grabbed me?”

At this, my hesitations were non-existent. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.” Feyre’s eyes beamed refusing to look away from mine as if to say, _Good_.

“I would have fired at him,” she said in a breathy voice, “if he had tried to hurt you.”

“I know.” That ache from earlier that I’d _almost_ forgotten about snaked its way back into the tightness at my groin as we watched each other knowing. That she would protect me, care for me - love me even, made me mad for her that much more. It was the closest she’d yet come to admitting it.

And even though it was soft and loving, there was heat behind it, fire in those bright blue-grey eyes that had stared me down at Starfall and sought to defend me and know my soul. Feyre was passion divine. I started to harden from across the bed in my desire to worship at her altar.

“One thought for another,” she said suddenly. “No training involved, please.” Irony sprung out like an Illyrian blade ready to cut me to the quick. I chuckled before downing the remainder of my wine and gave her the honest truth. No more hiding. I was done cowering from how I felt.

“I’m thinking,” I said as she licked her tongue over that rich, full bottom lip of hers I wanted to sink my teeth into, “that I look at you and feel like I’m dying. Like I can’t breathe. I’m thinking that I want you so badly I can’t concentrate half the time I’m around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you. Especially with the wings.”

The most beautiful blush worthy of making an Illyrian sunset jealous blossomed over her cheeks. I meant every word. And even if my wings were forced out in this inn with my magic barred from retracting them, it didn’t matter. If I had her - no, _when_ I had her, she would have all of me as she properly deserved.

Feyre took a long sip of her wine polishing off the glass and setting it aside. I realized I wasn’t even nervous for what she might say. Part of me already knew what it was.

“I’m thinking that I can’t stop thinking about you. And that it’s been that way for a long while.” My heart lept in my chest, rejoicing. “Even before I left the Spring Court. And maybe that makes me a traitorous, lying piece of trash, but-”

“It doesn’t,” I cut her off, again with no room for argument. She seemed stunned into acceptance of what I’d said.

We sat there, staring each other down. Her blood called to me from across the bond to take her, flip her over, shred the sweater filled with my scent and ravish that beautiful, strong body where she dwelt.

Feyre swallowed. “We should go to sleep.”

It was a long pause as I worked the fire within me down enough to acquiesce. “All right,” I agreed, wanting to do anything but.

Feyre undid the covers nearest the slanting of the wall and tucked herself in whilst I crawled underneath after her. I blew the candles out at the bedside and listened to the silence fill the room save for the pitter-patter of the rain outside. I lay on my side watching her, her back turned to me, imagining all the things I could do to that back alone. We were only inches apart, the bed was so small, and I could both see and feel her body trembling.

“You’re shivering so hard the bed is shaking,” I said.

“My hair is wet,” she said and I smirked to myself. If she thought I was going to keep playing coy and ignore the opportunity when it presented itself to me, she was a fool.

I pushed myself across the bed and slid hungrily around her. “No expectations,” I said cooly just behind her ear. My hands wrapped over and under either side of her pulling her tight against my chest while my legs tangled themselves between her own, settling in. “Just body heat.”

Her body was supple and warm against me, feeling like a perfect match against where we made contact. I cursed the fabric of my shirt and her sweater between us wishing some of Beron’s fire would come bursting out of her body to burn it away and leave us a mess of skin and sweat in its wake. My wings folded over Feyre, cocooning us in place.

I closed my eyes, content to fall asleep as we were for the night thinking this was as close as she’d let me get, when a cold, gentle touch met a tender trail along my right wing. And despite how much I had tried all evening not to, I hardened immediately at the unexpected touch.

“Your finger… is very cold,” I said against the skin of her neck, barely able to maintain composure. Her neck shifted more openly at my mouth as she stroked my wing again allowing her nail to drag against the membrane. She might as well have been stroking the length at my crotch aching for her for all it did to me.

My body clenched in response, my hand gripping her stomach. “You cruel, wicked thing,” I purred in her ear, my nose moving to graze along her neck. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“I never knew Illyrians were such sensitive babies,” Feyre replied before running another finger along the membrane. My hips bucked forward into her and I knew she felt how hard I was. Heat rippled across her skin at the touch, but Feyre soaked it right up, dragging two of her fingers wickedly yet again over my wings. Her stroke sent my hips in motion against her in time to her caresses longing to be released.

And I decided that if she was finally willing to play, so was I.

My hand at her stomach commenced a slow, lazy tour of the area around her navel, taunting Feyre with possibilities. She pushed back against me, her neck arching enough so that her chest lifted, clearing a path for my other hand towards her breast.

“Greedy,” I said full of headiness. I wouldn’t let her come quite so easily. No, if I had to wait to bed her, I would make her beg for this, prove to me she wanted it just as badly as I did. “First you terrorize me with your cold hands, now you want… what is it you want, Feyre?”

It was the same question I’d asked her outside the Court of Nightmares. But this time, I was going to get an answer out of her. I skimmed along the outside of her sweater, my hand stroking against her breasts. My other hand dipped lower on her stomach close to the lining of her pants. I didn’t want to wait. She was wet and I didn’t need to touch her to know. I could _smell_ it on her thick as smoke after a fire.

“What is it you want, Feyre?” I repeated, my teeth scraping her neck as my own body’s responses amplified. She arched when I nipped at her earlobe, a low whimper hissing out of her.

“I want a distraction,” she breathed. “I want - fun.”

My whole body stilled, temporarily lost in the haze that this might still only be a game for her, that she might not mean it. But then my hands remembered the heat pooling between her legs and mine and I threw explanations of the mate bond out the window, my body begging to touch her. _Anything_ if I could just touch her.

“Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you,” I growled, my hand plunging beneath the sweater and colliding skin on skin with her breasts. Feyre groaned as my mind exploded at the sensation of feeling her up. How long had I wanted just to _feel her_. “I love these,” I said, wildness taking over my voice as I started to lose control of myself. “You have no idea how much I love these.”

I tormented her chest in every way that I knew, loving how her nipples peaked for me and made her grind harder against me, against my cock throbbing behind her. “Stop that,” I said roughly in her ear to make her shudder. “You’ll ruin _my_ fun.”

And indeed, it was more fun than I had ever imagined. My hands weren’t even lower than her waist and I was in hell, rotting from the pleasure of her skin, still smelling of the pine-soaked rain outside. She twisted, ignoring my pleas, and trying to reach around for me, but I held her firm, blocking her access to my groin.

“I want to touch you first,” I said utterly unhinged, my voice becoming someone else’s, someone I’d never heard before. I had never wanted someone so badly, never imagined I could need Feyre this much, mate and all. “Just - let me touch you.”

I squeezed her breast hard and Feyre calmed caving in to me, too tormented for words. My hands trailed her skin like a moth drawn in to the flame, too stupid to stay away. And when my fingers finally threatened to dip below the hemline at her pants, I was at last greeted with her voice that had turned equally as primal and needing as my own.

“Please,” she begged, barely able to get the lone syllable out. It satisfied me to no end.

“There are those missing manners,” I grinned into her neck. My hand sank below the fabric at her waist and _stroked_.

Feyre groaned at the same moment I snarled in wicked approval of the wetness between her thighs. She was so thoroughly soaked, I needn’t even have pushed myself towards her before my fingers went sliding down, down, down. My thumb circled her clit in teasing sweeps until finally, neither of us could take it anymore and I pushed down, my entire body clenching around her.

Feyre’s body cried out, her hips buckling against mine as rapid pants poured out of her. I laughed insufferably, wanting to pull _more, more, more_ out of her. “Like that?” I asked intoxicated by her reaction to my touch, that I could elicit such a response from my mate.

She groaned, begging my fingers lowered and I obliged… to a point. I savored the feeling of her slickness on my fingers inviting me in, hardening beyond what I thought possible as I relished the promise of how she would taste on my tongue when I was finished. “Please,” Feyre gasped, again only managing a single syllable. Her ass ground against my hips and I sent a finger diving into her.

“Fuck!” I swore at her ear. “Feyre… Oh, fuck.” Her insides tightened around me, groping for more, begging not to lose contact. I kissed desperately at her neck, her ears, whatever my lips could get a hold of before slipping a second finger inside her as she writhed against me.

The sensation that had been pooling at her core began to grow, building towards that all consuming swell that controlled us both. “That’s it,” I murmured, my tongue licking her ear. _Come for me_ , I begged inside my head. _Come for your mate._

And then, before I knew what she was doing, Feyre sprung free of my grasp just enough to pivot herself around and catch my stare, a wildness pouring out of her eyes as she leaned up and captured my mouth with hers. She bit my bottom lip exactly as I’d wanted to bite hers and I groaned, my fingers thrusting into her harder automatically.

Her lips parted. My tongue surged inside. I stroked against her, mimicking the movement of my fingers at her core until the sensations were in sync. I could taste her all day. An eternity wouldn’t have been long enough. I might have come just fucking her with my hands. And when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I pulled back just enough to watch her finish for me.

“You have no idea how much I - _Feyre_ ,” I groaned and she shattered. Pressure squeezed tight around my fingers soaked in her wetness as she came. I swallowed her cry with my lips before it could drown out the sound of the rain beyond the inn. Her body shook and trembled a second time and I swore, guiding her through the end of it until she was left in utter ruins within my arms.

Her head turned leaning against my arm to look at me as I removed myself from inside her, ready to offer her more honesty. “I wanted to do that when I felt how drenched you were at the Court of Nightmares. I wanted to have you right there in the middle of everyone. But mostly I just wanted to do this.”

Without breaking eye contact, I brought those two cum-stained fingers to my lips and sucked. The taste that met my tongue was better than the finest wine or the sweetest honey.

Feyre moved instantly ready to overtake me, but I grabbed her hand. My cock ached horribly for reprieve, but I would be damned if I didn’t hold true to my promise not to bed her in this wretched room that was far too small to contain what I would do to her when we mated.

“When you lick me,” I said, my voice rough as I took hold of her hand with a hard grip, “I want to be alone - far away from everyone. Because when you lick me, Feyre,” and I leaned in to give a few last teasing kisses along her neck that sent her shivering all over again, “I’m going to let myself roar loud enough to bring down a mountain.”

I shifted her body so that she was forced to return to her original position against my chest, my arms back around her in a close, unyielding embrace. I laughed as her body protested, screaming at me with desire for more.

“And when I lick _you_ ,” I pressed on, “I want you splayed out on a table like my own personal feast.” The whimper Feyre choked on was the final nail in my coffin. “I’ve had a long time to think about how and where I want you. I have no intention of doing it all in one night. Or in a room where I can’t even fuck you against the wall.”

Her body trembled. My fingers at her stomach reached the waistband of her pants once more and stopped, my other hand commencing a soft sweep of the skin at her stomach and sides, far more loving than tantalizing as before.

“Sleep,” I whispered into her ear, smug and satisfied at the scene I’d brought forth. I watched Feyre unwillingly fight against my touch before giving in and falling fast asleep. When at last her breathing evened, I stopped my stroking, pressed a gentle kiss against her brow, and closed my own eyes.

For the first time in many years, the darkness of my nightmares did not find me once.

xx


End file.
